Perpetuum: Within Their Hearts
by Gallilea
Summary: The world is ending, but these children's flight from catastophe is only the beginning.
1. The End

**Perpetuum: Within Their Hearts**

**chapter one- The End**

"Zahava," she said, hugging the small form of her granddaughter tight to a withered body. "Promise me you'll be good."

Zahava said nothing, hung limply in her grandmother's arms. Her pale ginger hair was gathered in a ponytail, tangled with the fragile bones of her only relative.

"Gran," she said, shaking her head. "It'll be fine."

But she knew it wouldn't be. It was the whole reason why the airport was crowded with children: the world was ending, and it was starting with the Americas.

Even as she spoke, a clock was ticking: only three days, and New York City would be the first empire to fall into the sea, followed by the rest of the distraught nation. It was all so sudden, only discovered in time for the United Nations to pull up a list of countries, mostly in Europe, that would take refugees. It was a highly unorganized effort, on a first come, first served basis. Only three thousand children could be evacuated free of cost, and after that, you'd have to pay an abnormally high price to leave for safety.

This particular plane could carry a hundred passengers, and was due to leave any minute. The children could be divided into two clean-cut groups: children from the Vancouver Academy, in their purple and grey plaid skirts, and children from America, in jeans, in sweats, snapping their gum and lounging.

"Four minutes till' board," said a woman over a loudspeaker, cueing an onslaught of tearful hugs and goodbyes. Zahava pulled away from her grandmother's embrace, straightening her black blazer and fiddling with the silver Star of David around her neck.

"Well," she said awkwardly, a five foot three fourteen year old growing up in split seconds. "I guess… goodbye, Gran."

She turned, didn't look back as she gathered the smaller Vancouver students under her wing, and ushered them on board. She didn't look at the airport's windows as the plane left, because she knew that if she thought about all she was leaving behind, she just might find she forgot herself, too.

**---**

She looked out the window, back at her brother, out the window, in the rearview mirror. Back out the window. Everything was flying so fast, like the hands of time. One minute, they were living happily at her aunt's house. The next, in the car. No one had told either child anything, but children are smarter than we give them credit for: Hollis and Oliver Hatfeld had noticed. Something was happening; they weren't sure what, but they knew that whatever it was, it was enough for their aunt to leave them.

Like so many others. Their mother had left, when the twins were diagnosed with Autism four years ago. Their father had left, taking a few too many pills one night, unable to cope with the cross he was made to bear. And now, Aunt, leaving the twins in a tragedy apparently too massive to pull the kids through.

At the airport, Aunt slowed her driving, careful through the slush and snow that hit the windshield like marshmallows. As she dropped off her six year old niece and nephew, left them to pull their luggage with the assistance of an airport official, as a sticker with the stamp "REFUGEE" and a number taped to their jackets as though they were death row inmates, she softly hit her head against the steering wheel, a timid _honk, honk, honk_ lost amid the shuffling mass of panic that sifted around her like an ocean.

_Honk, honk, honk._

**---**

"But Dad," she whined, sobbing into the coarse camo, feeling his strong arms around her. She was so used to him leaving, to her being left behind. Why was this so hard? How was he able to do this all the time? It was heartbreaking, and the worst of it was that this might be her last hug.

"Don't but Dad me," he said in a tough tone, but his eyes were soft.

Her mother stood nearby, lips pursed tight. She didn't approve of wishy-washy teary nonsense, and awkwardly leaned towards her daughter.

"Be good to your grandmother," she said, patting Katie's shoulder.

That was all? The family, like those around them, was being broken apart by this catastrophe, and all Mrs. Courtney Ann Marie Kusick could say was _be good to your grandmother?_ Maybe growing up military made your heart immune to disaster, or maybe her mother was simply a robot. Either explanation would suffice.

"Last call," called a flight attendant, shooing children away from their parents and onto the boarding ramp.

"Daddy," Katie whispered as she waved sadly, eyes glazed. As much as she loved her father, she was furious: she would rather die in the distant chaos with her father than live in new world without him.

But as she sat and looked out the window, watching the airport- and her life- disappear, it became apparent that, quite frankly, she had no choice.

**---**

"Colby," he said, looking at his little brother over the seat of a taxi.

"Jonathan," Colby retorted.

"C'mon," Jonathan said, opening the door without stepping out. "We'll miss the plane."

In his hand were two stickers they got when the taxi entered the parking lanes: Refugee numbers 1574 and 1575, they were.

"Colby," Jonathan said impatiently, peeling the back off a sticker and pressing it to Colby's jacket.

Colby sulkily stepped out of the car. Immediately he wished he hadn't. This was depressing- all around him, children were hugged by regretful parents, mourning family, and Colbert and Jonathan Lamis had been pecked on the cheek by their mother as she put them in the cab.

It was so…. casual. She might have been sending them to camp, to their grandparent's house, to their father's. Like she was going to see them again. Like they had all the time in the world.

But all three of them knew all the time in the world wasn't going to fix these wounds. Simply no band aid is big enough.

**----------**

_Hey guys… it's Galli. Enjoying the story?_

_Perpetuum is hopefully going to become a three part series, and this is only chapter one. Keep watching… it gets better._

_Read and review, please. Advanced critique is encouraged._

_Gratias tibi ago!_


	2. Lost in Translation

**Perpetuum: Within Their Hearts**

**chapter two: Lost in Translation**

Her feet scuffed the industrial carpet cheerfully, a wide smile on her face. She loved plane rides; why was everyone else so sad? Why was everyone at the airport crying, even her mother? Maybe they got homesick easily, or airsick. Laurel knew she would miss her mother, when she got to wherever she was going. But right now, she was focusing on watching the grey-blue ocean beneath her, envisioning golden haired mermaids and dancing dolphins.

Laurel Rhoades had no idea why she was on this plane.

No one had told her. She was, for all intents and purposes, visiting her grandmother in Ireland, seeing her dad at his job in Australia. Australia, after all, was where this plane was bound to go. It was a hold over point, to relocate refugees to the best of their ability. Most children had been given a piece of paper from their parents with an intended destination.

Laurel's read, "Dublin, Ireland," but, at six years old, Laurel was more skilled at coloring and Irish dance than she was at reading.

She smiled, turning to the girl next to her. Her neighbor was a Vancouver Academy student, her blonde hair neatly pulled into a sleek ponytail. Laurel's frizzy orange curls puffed out from the sides of her head like an afro.

"Hi!" she said, cheerfully, seeming not to notice the distant, glazed stare of the girl beside her. "I'm Laurel."

"Hi," echoed the girl. She looked back at her hands, her pale, trembling hands.

And Laurel furrowed her brow in concentration. Something was wrong. She could see it.

---

"You won't miss it?" Trevor prompted, watching his friend carefully. "At all?"

"Nah," Danny said, shaking his shaggy black hair. "I've always wanted to go to China."

"You aren't going to China, dude," Trevor laughed, leaning back into his seat, red hair falling in front of his pale eyes. "You're hitting England, with me."

Danny smiled, rubbing his temples. "But I need to be with my Hong-Kong Brethren," he said in a serious tone. "You always said that…"

"The chicks in England got hotter bods than the ones in Asia, my dear Chinaman."

"And worse teeth; try making out with that."

"This from the man I once dared to french a cow."

"Shut up."

Trevor smirked. But his cheerful face fell as he looked around and remembered; he was not on a guys trip with his best friend Daniel Yang.

"What?" Danny asked, looking concerned.

"Remembering."

"You ruined it," Danny said in an accusatory mutter.

"What?"

"The pretend." Danny turned his head to look out the window, but the view was blocked by his own reflection.

---

Her arms were crossed, white wires snaking out of her ears. Her iPod was filling her ears with the sweet sound of Boys Like Girls, and her red-painted lips moved to the words as her ocean colored eyes studied the outdated fabric of the seat in front of her. Golden bangs swept across her face, her hair pooling at her shoulders like water. Her porcelain skin glowed like a summer moon, and she coolly ignored the stares of surrounding boys.

Jolie, having been among the elite in the sixth grade, was used to this.

_I feel like a hero, and you are my heroine…_

She looked down at her feet in their Birkenstocks, eyes closed. She thought about school- how, in Seattle, she had a loyal posse of followers: Jackie and Anna and Emily and Rose and Sara… how guys fawned over her, how she got no less than twenty four Wintergrams. She wondered what her new life would be like, if there was room for a celebrity wherever she was headed.

_Did you know that your love is the sweetest sin?_

---

The kids were actually quite interesting, Annette the flight attendant discovered as she offered measly prizes of apple juice and cookies. No amount of cheery servitude could fix the problem, and Annette was more disturbed by than thankful for her passenger's silence.

"Apple juice?" Annette said gently to the child in the aisle seat. "Cookie? Chocolate milk?"

The girl shook her head, lips pursed. Annette sighed, looking around the dismal cabin. Older ones tried their best to look confident, nonchalant, but she could see tears behind their blank stares. The younger children didn't even try to act like everything was normal, and sobbed hysterically: they knew what was happening. Here and there was a child who didn't know the circumstances, and who looked confused and slightly frightened by the melancholy around them.

Annette sighed. Thank goodness she didn't have children… imagine the hell these families were going through.

--------

_Well… I ran out of muse for this particular chapter. Don't worry- it may take me a while to get where I'm going, but I'll get there (eventually.) Happy New Year; read and review advanced critique encouraged!!!!_

_luv Galli_


	3. The Great Escape

**Perpetuum: Within Their Hearts**

**chapter three: The Great Escape**

The plane was silent, save for the small cries of children who hadn't yet cried themselves to sleep. It was evening, the clear moon hung in the sky, and most of the plane's windows were shut. At this point, few of the refugees really cared where they were going.

But up in the cockpit, pilot Richard Andrews squinted at his control panel, trying to read for signs. He could tell something was wrong, but he had no idea what, other than that his wife and kids were in mortal peril back east while he got to escape to Australia.

Since there were no outward signals of disaster, he turned his attention back to the air. Nothing was wrong.

Nothing.

---

Zahava had finally drifted off to sleep, her mouth open and her head resting on the open window. Pale moonlight filtered in, splashing like spilled milk across her lap.

Lost in a thin, cloudy sleep, she immediately awoke when she felt the plane tremble. Her brown eyes wide, she looked around, but most of the other children were sleeping. She leaned back into her seat. She was imagining things. Closing her eyes, she tried to return to unconsciousness.

But the plane shifted again, a thick rumble that shook the passengers awake and knocked some of the smaller ones into the aisle.

The sole flight attendant yelled at everyone to stay calm, but Zahava could see her hands shaking as she stumbled into the cockpit. The children were silent, exchanging panicked stares, and some had even started up that useless crying again.

She returned, her face ghost white. "Seatbelts," she choked out, pulling an example seat belt tight and swallowing her words.

Zahava tightened hers across her lap and looked around. By now, everyone was completely awake, staring at Annette and waiting for instructions with rapt attention.

The plane lurched forward like a mechanical bull; Zahava could feel vomit rising in her throat. The aircraft leveled itself, and she exchanged a relieved glance with her neighbor before it lurched forward again.

Zahava lifted the plastic shield of the window, and saw that the plane was rapidly approaching the glimmering waves.

---

When the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling like they would in any emergency, it became apparent that they were doomed.

The nice lady was frantic now, stumbling over words and fighting to keep her footing in those high heels as she demonstrated how to use your cushion as a floatation device, shoved orange life vests at whoever she could, kicked off her shoes and ran down the aisle, pointing at the children seated by emergency exits.

"Open… open that," she said, trying to make herself heard over the wailing cries of chaos. "And… a slide will pop out…"

Oliver fumbled with the latch. He was only six; how could he be expected to save the lives of an entire plane? He cried out in frustration, who knew how close the sea was at this point? But a tall boy with sandy blond hair reached over his seat and somehow opened the door, and a flood of children jumped out the opening even as the slide was popping out.

They dropped into the dark sea, and the plane quickly left them behind, spitting more children from its two emergency exits in a trail as it hurtled closer to the sea.

"Go," said the nice lady, shoving Hollis down the slide, and then tossing Oliver down, too.

He closed his eyes, hoping for it to be quick, but the free fall seemed to last forever: the slide, at that point, had hovered about seventy feet above the water, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream as he hurtled through the air. Something scratchy was pressing against his chest; he clutched the cushion and landed in a belly flop on the black water. he could feel red welts spreading on his body under his turtleneck and khakis, heard a splash next to him he identified as Hollis. He could sense her presence, and it was a good thing, because without her, he was nothing. He kicked his way over to her, and they grasped hands, sobbing.

The plane roared overhead, still dropping parcels ever closer to what might be a sanctuary; what might be a dream.

---

She trembled, watching the slide get closer and closer to the rolling waves. Would it ever touch them?

"Go! Go! Go!" yelled the flight attendant, shoving passengers down the slide as though they were packages at a post office. At the other slide, a teenage boy threw children down the chute haphazardly, piles of laundry that would wash up neatly folded on some nearby wash basket.

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous.

"Go," hissed the flight attendant, shoving Katie down the plastic slide. She screamed, tears streaming from her eyes, and wrapped her body around the cushion, scarcely noticing when she went into free fall. It was only until she felt herself submerge that she realized she had let go of the seat cushion.

She opened her eyes, immediately closing them as the salt bit her face. She flapped her arms like some dying bird, her hair floating around her head, a mysterious halo. She pushed herself to the surface, treading water. She spat tangy liquid from her mouth, looked around. There were maybe three other kids near her, but after that, the closest bunch was probably a good fifty feet off.

At first, she resisted the waves, avoided the current. But as her muscles exhausted themselves, she was too weary to do much else than let the ocean do its worst.

She gave in. A massive roller swallowed her up, and Katie's head dipped under the water.

---

At the other slide, a small cluster of older passengers were yelling at each other.

"Go!" Zahava screamed, pointing down the slide as the plane drew ever closer to the water.

"Ladies first," the older boy insisted, fixing her with an angry stare as she glared back. Finally, he went down first: there wasn't time to waste; many children were still on the plane in its furious descent.

She dipped down a split second after him; he grabbed her foot and whooped as if this was fun, not terrifying.

Neither of them had a seat cushion or life vest.

As they hit the water, the boy's weight dragged Zahava down as he clutched her ankle. She kicked out, lost him, floated to the surface, grabbed a stray cushion. She kicked her way in a random direction, trying to look purposeful. He was only a few feet behind her, and they both paused, watching bodies jumping from the plane.

---

Jennifer could feel herself sinking, losing energy, even as she clung to a cushion as if her life depended on it.

Which it did.

Her heavy woolen blazer and skirt weighed her down; she let one arm free of her little raft to rip off the soaked garments, felt them sink away. She shivered, the frigid water of the open ocean soaking through her underwear and camisole, but now she was staying afloat easier.

Her teeth chattered, she looked around. As far as she could see- not very well; her glasses had fallen off- she was alone in this patch of the Pacific.

She feebly kicked her legs, trying to propel herself toward where the plane had headed; where she figured the others would be. But the waves had other plans: they tossed her about like pizza dough, she sputtered and coughed and sobbed as her skin turned white, as her lips turned blue.

Jennifer had always been temperature sensitive, but she had never guessed it would lead to this, never guessed her life would end this way.

It had been hours, surely, since she had jumped, and still she was alone. There was not even a speck of land in sight. She was stranded, and, as she struggled to stay awake, she wondered if it was even worth it.

The moon gave way to a delicate sun in an azure dome. She tried to sit up, to see as far as her blurry vision would allow.

Nothing. She was alone. A current tugged at her feet, but she didn't fight it. She rested her head on her arms, waiting for the tears to stop coming.

Her heart boiled, a sea of turmoil equivalent to the one foaming around her. She squinted up at the sun, a happy circle of hope or friendship or some other foreign emotion, and with a grimace, she gave the open sky the finger and released her cushion.

And with those final words, she sank into the ocean, a brick lost in mortar, a baby in the womb.

---

She was curled in a fetal position, breathing shallow, panicked breaths as she watched the shadows of people leaping to their deaths.

The plane was now rushing over an island, people didn't know what to do: jumping into water was one thing, but onto land? Branches of trees scraped the plane; Jolie heard screams and a harsh, heavy crunch as metal folded into stone like a taco. Her head whipped hard against the plastic wall behind her, and a thick blanket settled over her, darkening her vision, slowing her breathing as blood trickled down her forehead and death stepped in. The plane was smoking, fire breathing from its windows, and who knew how many worlds were ending.

----------

_Well… how was that? I tried not to rush it, I really tried. But I think I understand why William Golding simply skipped to the lost-on-an-island part. That's how I started the role play version of Perpetuum (if you're interested, contact me). But I wanted to give a nice introduction to the characters, especially Zahava and Jolie. I should probably take more time on chapters, but if I overthink things turn out shoddy, and a lot of the time I'll start thinking my ideas are stupid if I take too long with them. So… read and review, advanced critique encouraged, happy New Year, everybody!_


	4. So Alive

**Perpetuum: Within Their Hearts**

**chapter four: So Alive**

Her eyes opened to a strangely tilted world, to a soft bed of golden sand, so unlike the night before. A gentle tide licked her toes like a puppy, and she sat up slowly, folding her legs beneath her as she looked around.

She squinted in the bright sun, pushing a lock of pale hair behind her ear. Her eyes searched the beach for signs of life. Where was she? Where was everyone else?

Zahava stood up, sand sticking to her woolen skirt. She took off her blazer, standing there in her damp white blouse, not really caring that the shirt was now pretty much transparent. Quite frankly, there wasn't much oomph there anyway, if you get what I mean.

She kicked off her black dress shoes, peeled off her grey knee socks and tossed them aside, squinching her toes in the sand before taking a few steps forward.

She paused again, looked around. A light breeze toyed with her long hair; she grasped it in one hand and tied it in a messy knot.

"Hello?" she yelled, hearing nothing but the sound of her own voice being absorbed into the lush jungle, nothing but the sound of silence.

---

Hours. Days. Lifetimes.

As Katie moved though the ocean, she felt so vulnerable, a mouse in a mousetrap, a puppy in the cage of a pitbull. It would toss her to the surface, let her float long enough to catch her breath, relax, before taking her in its fists and pummeling her.

But it seemed to have a destination in mind: the merciless sea was carrying her to an island; she could see it, the big black dome of a volcano, the lush forest beyond. But she couldn't allow herself to hope she'd make it that far: her heart sank as she saw rocks churning the already restless waves even more; surely she'd be ripped to pieces.

She closed her eyes as she got closer, held her breath in puffy cheeks as she submerged again and again. Her feet could scrabble the rocky bottom if the waves left her alone long enough; she started moving her arms and legs in a frantic attempt to escape the current. She ran parallel to the beach, almost surrendered to the current even as she escaped it. Now, she swam her way to shore, spitting salt water and crying as the saline washed out her cut up feet.

She collapsed upon the narrow, rocky beach. It was maybe fifteen feet wide, covered in tiny shells and stones, before it hit the jagged, black rock of volcano. She pressed her face into the shells and let the tide tug at her feet, too tired to do much else.

For the first time since Katie heard she was being sent away, she slept. She slept like the dead.

---

He had woken up hours ago, having swum to this rock on a massive adrenaline rush. Men get that. And in one night, Daniel Yang has changed from a boy to a man.

He squinted into the sun, sitting cross legged on a warm rock in the sun. Behind him was a wide stretch of white sand, beyond which was the lush jungle. A thin strip of smoke hung far off in the distant east; he supposed that was the plane wreck.

Was he the sole survivor? Would he spend the rest of his years talking to a volleyball like that guy in _Castaway? _Would a TV crew show up next week to tell him the world was not, in fact, ending, that he and ninety-nine corpses had been punk'd?

He buried his shaggy black head in his hands, about to do some manly crying. But then he heard a voice.

_Hello?_

It was a girl voice, and sounded as if it was coming from up the beach.

"Hello?" he yelled back, launching himself off his rock and sprinting towards her call. "Hello?"

He almost ran straight into her when their paths crossed, she fit in so well with her surroundings. Her skin was a light color, a shade or two lighter than her pale ginger hair, which matched her freckles and eyes perfectly. She was wearing a wet, white button up shirt and a plaid skirt.

They stood before each other, surveying the other with mild curiosity. Danny was panting, having run a few hundred feet.

"I'm Zahava," she said, sticking out her hand. Water clung to her eyelashes; sand was still stuck to her cheek. She must have just woken up.

He took it and gave it a firm shake. "Danny."

They released each other awkwardly; Zahava put her hands on her hips as they silently regarded each other for a moment.

"Well," she said pointedly, her eyes following Danny's line of footprints. "We best look for other survivors."

_As if there are any, _Danny though moodily, following her as she walked up the beach. _You, Zahava, have been punk'd._

---

"Under the sea," she sang, her voice squeaky and loud as she sat, cross legged, fingering the delicate shells. "Under the sea…" she started humming, scarcely noticing when the sea washed up another victim.

It was only when the body started moaning and trying to stand that Laurel noticed it. By then, her frizzballs of hair were almost dry, even if her dress and leggings weren't. She had taken off her crocs on the plane, the starchy material annoying on her small feet.

Laurel ran over to the figure, squatting down and poking it. It rolled over; Laurel could see its face through the wet blonde hair sticking to it.

"Hi!" she chimed, shaking the girl's shoulders with all the might her six year old body could muster. "Hi! Hi! Hi!"

"Ummphg," groaned the girl, wiping gritty sand from her face and rolling over.

Laurel frowned, crossing her arms.

"Wake up," she commanded, poking the girl.

"UMMMPGH," insisted the girl, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. When she opened them, they were red and bloodshot, stinging.

"What," she groaned, looking up at the six year old, who was now standing with a perky smile.

"I'm Laurel," Laurel said cheerily. She grabbed the other girl's wrist and tugged. "Let's play princess."

"I don't want to play princess," the other girl protested as Laurel led her to a stack of seashells.

"That's my castle," Laurel proclaimed proudly.

"I don't want a castle," the other girl muttered. "I want a fire and some food."

"Like a tea party?" Laurel asked, interested.

"Sure," said the other girl, casting a little smile. "Like a tea party."

---

He was breathing heavily, his face dappled with light shifting in the ferns. He had slept here, in the jungle, and had woken to shouting.

_What's going on? _He wondered, casually flicking his penknife in and out, in and out.

He relaxed as the hazy figures came into focus: it was only that Jewish girl, the one who wouldn't go down the slide first. He smirked. So she made it.

He lifted himself out of the undergrowth, but then paused mid-step. An Asian boy- who was that? Where was the fun in being stranded on a tropical island with a mildly hot younger chick if you had to share her? Curling his upper lip, he stepped onto the sand and swaggered over to the two, who seemed to be chatting awkwardly.

He caught the end of her sentence, other_ survivors, _and smiled.

"I'm an other survivor," he said in a deep tone, one that made the girls at school almost strip right then and there.

But she… she remained undaunted.

"What a relief," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm Jonathan," he said, trying to keep his tone cool.

"Zahava," Zahava said, turning her attention from the tall youth to the jungle. "Anyone else in there?"

Zahava. So… exotic. Maybe it was Arabic; that was the Jewish language, after all.

He only noticed he had been addressed when her little voice laughed at him.

"Well?" she said, already walking up the slope, pushing her wild hair behind an ear. "Boy wonder?"

---

When she opened her eyes, her body was already slick with sweat, flies buzzed around the smashed entrails of the aircraft. She looked around without moving, at the stone still trees that reached in through the emergency exits, at the pale blue sky, she could hear the distant crash of waves.

She shifted, unable to stand up. Something was on her.

She looked down, and screamed.

A white face stared back at her, muscles rigid, eyes wide. A fly buzzed at one of them, fluttered lazily away as her scream pierced the air.

Jolie shoved the body off her, stood up, tears cutting paths in her sweaty face.

More bodies littered the cabin. The flight attendant, Annette. An eight year old. A coloring book lay open, resting upside down. She knelt and picked it up, feeling like an anthropologist in a foreign land.

A half colored picture, of a girl with an umbrella. The girl's hair was red and messily scribbled; Jolie smiled at the freeform nature of this artist, trying to forget that the artist-or what was left of her- likely lay only feet from herself.

But halfway down the page was a frightening message in purple scrawl, with circles over the I's and slightly slanted writing.

_Mom, _it read, _I love you, and I guess you were right: I'll be with you soon. _

---

He had washed up by some outcroppings of rock and had sat there for the past few hours, trying to figure how the hell to get from where he was to the main chunk of island. This need was intensified as he watched two survivors meeting on the narrow, grey beach, and he felt distinctly excluded. That wasn't cool.

Colby hoisted himself off the rock and carefully stepped onto the jagged volcanic terrain. How had he gotten in such a strange position? He had no idea, but he hurried to the girls as if he was on hot coals, his feet bleeding.

"Hi," he gasped, putting his raw palms on his knees. He wouldn't go back up that fucking volcano, not if he could help it.

"I'm Laurel and we're playing princess," said a frizzy haired little girl, regarding Colby with suspicion.

"I'm Katie and we're actually playing tea party," added the other girl, crossing her arms and sizing up Colby.

He straightened up, trying to seem big and/or tough, but of course he was neither, not like Jonathan, anyway.

An awkward silence. Colby wanted to ask this Katie girl important stuff- were there any survivors, other than them? Had they found a camp? What should they do? - But decided to keep it simply positive while this five year old was around.

"Do we have to?" Colby whined with a sigh. He was stranded on an island, and he had to play tea party.

This had to be some sort of joke. What could he have possibly done wrong to deserve this?

---

She squinted down the beach, watching two little figures that seemed to be standing still, staring right at her.

"Hey," she said, stopping the boys. "I think I see people."

The boys looked at each other, eyebrows raised. They didn't see anything.

She rolled her eyes at them. "Fine. I'll look."

Zahava set off at a jog, her hair swinging behind her. When she reached the kids, she was panting like a dog in heat and pushing her hair out of her face. When she finally saw them in their entirety, it was hard not to laugh.

The two of them were very pale, with sable hair and even darker eyes. Neither was wearing anything but white underwear.

"Um," Zahava said, looking past the twins at the crumpled heaps of clothing behind them. "Want to join us?" She pointed with her thumb back at the boys.

The boy looked past Zahava, then at his sister, who was studying the taller girl.

"Yeah," she said in a soft voice. She took a step forward.

"Hold on," Zahava said gently, edging past the two and picking up two black turtlenecks and a pair of khaki pants. "We'll fix these up for you."

The twin's bodies were shiny with sweat; they followed Zahava as she led them purposefully to the boys.

"Either of you have a knife?" she asked, sitting cross legged with the clothing in her lap.

"No," said the girl.

"Not you," Jonathan hissed, handing his to Zahava.

The twins exchanged looks and sat down.

Zahava held up the pants first. She messily chopped off about two thirds of the legs, and tossed the shorts at the boy, who pulled them on. One of the black turtlenecks was shorter than the other; she chopped off the neck and most of the sleeves, handed it to the boy.

The girl leaned forward, watching Zahava's hands slice off the sleeves and neck of the other shirt, and pulled it on. It was like a very short dress, but it would do.

"What are your names?" Zahava asked, smiling sweetly at the pair.

"I'm Hollis," the girl said before pointing to her twin. "That's Oliver."

"Hollis," Jonathan groaned, "and Oliver? What kind of names are those?"

Zahava helped the twins stand up and glared at Jonathan.

Danny smirked. That white boy would soon get what was coming to him.

-------

_Holy crapamole… it took me six days to write this? Admittedly I was focusing on my debate final but really… you may wonder what is happening to Trevor but I'm not sure he's really necessary for the story… Colby may prove to be more of an asset. We'll see, we'll see… I do have a plan, it just doesn't require any of the boys except Oliver and Jonathan. ' Oooooh! Suspense! Anyway, you probably won't get more out of me until after finals, which I believe are next week? I should probably get studying!_

_Happy new year everybody, and please excuse my horrific writing!_


End file.
